


To any passing fad

by imperfectcircle



Series: Stories by theme: Romance [18]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, Meet-Cute, dc era, highly specific roleplay, lightly edited chatfic, one night stand but oops feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-01 07:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectcircle/pseuds/imperfectcircle
Summary: Hottest Guy cocks an eyebrow, unfairly making him even hotter. "I get to do theaterandI get to rail you?" He looks Lovett up and down. Grins just a little wolfishly. "This night is getting even better."
Relationships: Ronan Farrow/Jon Lovett
Series: Stories by theme: Romance [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/327392
Comments: 54
Kudos: 189





	To any passing fad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleMousling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMousling/gifts).

> This began life as a chatfic prompted by LittleMousling. The first few lines of dialogue are LittleMousling's and Laliandra's. Thank you both for letting me run with this, and thanks to everyone who cheered along the way! <3
> 
> You all know the drill. Please keep it secret, keep it safe. There's no reason for anyone even remotely connected to the Crooked Media empire to know about this.

Lovett wakes up with an itchy recklessness under his skin. He can't tell if he needs to fight, fuck, or flee the East Coast three weeks earlier than planned, but he knows he needs something. Fighting seems unwise, and fleeing would be logistically tricky, so after failing to shake the itch all day, he heads to one of D.C.'s quieter gay bars to see what he can see. 

He's got a routine for nights like this, which doesn't say _great_ things about his ongoing mental health, but now is not the time to dwell on that. He'll start with a sweet, pink, horrifically overpriced cocktail, dance half-heartedly to showcase his runner's thighs, then pick his target from the guys propping up the bar. 

It's easy, it's reliable, and it works for him, so of course he abandons the strategy completely to walk right up to the hottest guy there, wait for him to look up from his BlackBerry, and say:

"It's been a long week, I'm very stressed, any interest in pretending to be really into my imaginary TV show?" 

Hottest Guy is sitting at a table on his own, tight white t-shirt and vodka cranberry pairing nicely with his BlackBerry to complete the Busy D.C. Gay look. That would have made a better opening line, probably. 

But Hottest Guy is half-smiling at him with a lot less revulsion than his gambit deserved. "That's a very weird come-on," Hottest Guy says like he's remarking on the weather. "But weird works for me, so."

Now _that_ is a challenge Lovett was born for. He briefly considers and dismisses making up something even weirder than what he actually wants, but if he's going to frighten off a guy this gorgeous, it might as well be on his own merits.

"More specifically, I'm a brilliant writer and you're the fan who's going to pound me into the mattress."

Hottest Guy cocks an eyebrow, unfairly making him even hotter. "I get to do theater _and_ I get to rail you?" He looks Lovett up and down. Grins just a little wolfishly. "This night is getting even better."

Hottest Guy is called Ronan. When he puts his hand on Lovett's wrist and says, "Oh my god, I _love_ your show," Lovett can't decide what hits him hardest: the touch, the words, or Ronan's willingness to play along. 

All three together are a powerful combo. Lovett isn't sure how he feels about that, so to cover he does what he does best: talks weird shit until someone laughs or tells him to shut the fuck up. 

"Thanks, I get that a lot. Who knew so many people were into space dentistry and Russian ice dancing?"

Ronan flashes him a megawatt grin. "What can I say? You had me at Duke Ivan and his laser harpoon."

"Really? The critics weren't wild about his arc. Apparently cybertronic whale orgies are 'overdone'."

"Please, you can't listen to those hacks. I thought the way you dealt with the zero-gravity fluids was very tasteful and _highly_ original."

Lovett can feel his own mouth stretched in a smile the mirror of Ronan's. It's a happy, giddy thing that wouldn't normally belong on his face, but tonight he'll allow it. 

They pass the joke back and forth between them, egging each other on with Duke Ivan's remarkably lifelike robot army and the secret lost twin harpooner who eventually, as one drink folds into the next and Lovett finds himself touching Ronan every time he laughs, turns out to have been dead the whole time. 

"I told them no, I don't care what it costs, if we can't get a stunt double for Matt Bomer's disembodied knees, you might as well trash the entire season." Lovett concludes his rant with a sweeping gesture, as if trashing the season there and then. He's so emphatic it takes him a moment to realize Ronan has gone from laughing freely to looking at him with dark, serious eyes. 

"You're weird and you've got jokes," Ronan tells him. "Take me back to your place right now."

And okay, Lovett may have been just the slightest hint distracted by the joy of a good bit, but Ronan has his eyes on the prize. Lovett can respect that. 

Lovett must say something to indicate agreement, but he forgets what the second Ronan takes one of Lovett's hands, raises it to his mouth, and kisses the palm before looking up through his eyelashes at Lovett. 

"I can't believe I'm touching the hand that wrote Cetacean Dentation: Space Station."

And the words are funny, sure, but the everything else goes _straight_ to Lovett's dick, fuck. 

When Ronan lets go of Lovett's hand, Lovett puts his finger to Ronan's bottom lip, not sure what he's doing but sure it's going to be well received. Ronan opens his mouth to suck it, swirling his tongue against the pad like a promise. 

Fuck. Lovett swallows hard. He wants to be outraged that someone this gorgeous and funny can also be so earnestly _fun_, not just rolling with the barrel full of crazy Lovett dumped on him but doing it with a smile. 

"You're lovely," he says instead, which, not what he was planning on saying, but Ronan gives him the gift of not acknowledging it directly, just letting Lovett's finger slip out of his mouth and reply: 

"I'm a huge fan of your writing. But I didn't realize you'd be so fucking hot, too."

"You're not so bad yourself," Lovett says instead of _thank you_, tracing Ronan's jaw with two fingers. 

"I would --" Ronan stops. Smiles ruefully. Looks down and then back up again, to devastating effect. "I would really like the chance to show you how much your writing means to me." He puts his hand on Lovett's hip, casual and intimate. "I'm sure you have fans throwing themselves at you all the time. But I bet they can't fuck you like I will." 

Lovett's hand has reached the angle of Ronan's jaw. He brings Ronan in for a kiss, both of them swaying into each other, looser and happier than anyone should be with a one night stand. 

"None of them as handsome as you," Lovett says. "Or as sure of themselves."

Ronan, who is clearly not someone to ignore insider knowledge, gives him a smirk and tells him, "I'm going to put you on your knees and give it to you so hard you'll feel it in your bones."

It's a short enough walk from the bar to Lovett's place. Ronan decides to spend it telling Lovett he's going to fuck him, "like the astronaut fucked the cowboy in season 2 episode 4, but without the robot crane," or, "like the deleted scene from season 3 episode 1 before they added the CGI goldfish." 

Every time Lovett makes Ronan laugh -- "Huh, you liked the bit where the senior whale technician breaks his wrist? The lawyers were _not_ happy about that, let me tell you" -- Ronan grins wolfishly and rewards him with a touch or a look that makes it abundantly clear someone is about to get railed. 

It's fun. Weirdly, delightfully fun. They're never going to see each other again and that lets Lovett relax, have fun right back. He can hook two fingers under the waistband of Ronan's pants without worrying about it, because either Ronan will let him pull them together for a kiss or he won't, but either way it won't matter in the morning. Turns out, Ronan does let him -- lets him kiss the laughter from Ronan's lips, lets him deepen the kiss into something wet and hungry, lets him pull back and make another joke, all easy, all good. 

When they get back to Lovett's room, Ronan tilts his head to the side just the slightest fraction, open and curious in a way that must be really fucking effective at getting answers even without the incentives unique to this situation. 

"How did this go in your head? Best case scenario. You brought your hot fan back to your room, he told you how much he loved your work, and --?"

Lovett can feel something like, _You're already better than the best case scenario,_ struggling to be said, but he holds it in. No need to make it weird. Weirder. No need to make it weirder. "I guess my adoring fan, uh, he's very eager?" he says. "Clumsy with lust. He wants to fuck me so badly he's not-- he's not very gentle with me. Not deliberately rough but just." He pauses. "Fucks me hard, you know? Because he just wants me so bad, because I'm so brilliant."

"Fucks you hard because he wants you so bad," Ronan repeats back to him with an easy, nonjudgmental smile, like yeah, sure, that sounds normal and not indicative of great chasms of psychological whatever. "That's not going to be a stretch."

Lovett has some sort of feeling about that. He doesn't want to think about it. "You sweet talker," he says instead. 

"Anything else?" Ronan asks. "Anything you'd like me to do? Or not do? And remember, I'm the one who said yes when you asked me to this sexy improv psychodrama. So if there's an extra twist you want that'll make this perfect, I am here for you"

That's all very a lot. Lovett's not into it. But he's also, strangely for him, not _not_ into it. He can live with this level of _a lot_ when it's coming from this Ronan guy, this near stranger who seems so wholly and earnestly happy to deal with Lovett’s nonsense that maybe he can cope with a little vulnerability, just for tonight. After all, tomorrow Ronan will be off fulfilling some other lonely gay disaster's most intimate fantasy, so it's not like either of them will have to deal with the fallout.

"My show. That you love. It's called 1600 Penn." And that makes Ronan the first person in DC to hear that title. Fuck. Lovett juts his chin up, to ward off whatever disappointment or incredulity is coming from his "fan."

Ronan gives Lovett this small, sweet smile that Lovett can't read at all. Then he shakes himself, very obviously getting into character:

"Oh my god, I fucking love 1600 Penn," he tells Lovett, sounding earnest enough that for a moment Lovett could believe him. "It's so funny and so insightful, the balance of humor and drama is just, wow. It's perfect. I know you must get this all the time, but I'm such a big fan, I'd hate myself if I didn't at least try." He looks down. Looks up through his eyelashes. "Can I kiss you?"

Frankly, that's the whole fantasy right there. Lovett doesn't know what he was expecting to feel -- he wasn't, if he's honest, expecting any of this, past maybe picking up some overtired staffer who made a couple of token "I like your show" comments while giving him a mediocre dicking -- but what he does feel is just open, and hopeful, and hopelessly fond.

"Who am I to turn down a fan?" Lovett replies, moving in for the kiss.

But Ronan surprises him again by catching Lovett's face in his hands, taking control of the kiss with a clumsy eagerness that wasn't there earlier. It's a good impression of a fan overwhelmed by lust, nervous but not able to hold himself back. 

He backs Lovett up against the wall, kisses Lovett's mouth sloppy hard

"Fuck, you're so hot," Ronan says into his mouth. He pulls away, then starts kissing Lovett's neck, pausing to say in fits and starts: "It's stupid, but ever since I saw your show, I always had this fantasy, like, I would meet you and I'd be all cool and pretend I didn't know who you were, and then seduce you, but. Fuck. You're just so hot it all went completely out of my mind. I really want you. Please. Let me."

Lovett moans harder than he means to. "I would have been seduced," he says

He wants to say something else -- something about how hot and funny and, it's maybe not the right word, but generous? Ronan is. Like, this guy who just went with everything Lovett asked and then drew out of him the bits Lovett didn't ask for

But he's not supposed to know that in character, and it feels minimizing just to talk about how hot Ronan is. Hot is great, fine, whatever, but Ronan has given him a better fantasy than he could have imagined for himself.

"I just--" Ronan says, pulling back but still continuing his bit as a fan too overwhelmed to hold steady. 

And fuck it. You only live once. Lovett lets himself be guided by the feeling in his chest he's not looking at right now, gives Ronan a soft, tender, closed-mouth kiss of his own before asking, "What do you want, sweetheart? How can I make this good for you?"

Ronan rolls with it, the same way he's rolled with everything else. "I really just want to get my hands on you," he says, earnest and eager. "Anything you want. But. If you. Do you let people fuck you? Would you let me fuck you? I'll make it good, I promise, I just, if that was a thing you wanted. I would want that so much."

His voice gives just a fraction on the "so much," and that is some fine acting right there. Ronan must be really getting into the role.

"I don't normally," Lovett lies. "But I will for you."

That does something real to Ronan -- his eyes go dark in a way that can't be faked, at least not by random guys you pick up in DC bars, however good they are at "yes, and."

"You'll make it good for me, won't you," Lovett half-asks, half-tells Ronan.

"I'll make it so fucking good for you," Ronan promises, running his hands hungrily over Lovett's clothed ass.

Lovett isn't sure if it was the "I don't normally" or the "I will for you" that did it, so he flips a mental coin and goes for: "Yeah, you know how to fuck, I can tell."

Ronan grips him tighter. Kisses Lovett again, hot and desperate. "Naked. Get naked."

Lovett complies, enjoying the way Ronan's breathing gets shallower as more skin is revealed.

As soon as Lovett has stepped out of his clothes, Ronan, shirtless but still wearing pants, pulls Lovett to him, pressing them close.

It's hot and overwhelming, feeling so wanted. Lovett can't find something to say that isn't more revealing than he can stand, not while he's vulnerable like this, not while Ronan is basically hugging him as he kisses Lovett's neck, not while Lovett's bare toes brush against Ronan's socks making him feel desperately, ridiculously fond.

He brings one hand up to tilt Ronan's mouth back within kissing distance, and lets a little of what he's feeling out through a tender, aching kiss that doesn't belong in any kind of hookup.

Ronan kisses back just as tenderly, once again meeting him where he is.

"You're an amazing writer and I'm so excited to be doing this with you," Ronan says softly, punctuating it with another kiss. "1600 Penn is going to be so successful, the next fan you fuck will get naked being watched by an entire shelf of Emmys."

It walks the silly-sweet-sincere line just right -- not breaking the mood, but not wholly part of the bit. Lovett decides that for the next half hour, he is going to close his eyes and believe Ronan on this.

He drops a soft kiss on Ronan's naked shoulder. Ronan shivers.

"You ready to fuck some self-belief into me through overly specific roleplay?" Lovett asks.

"Never been readier."

Lovett's never had the knack of making getting from make outs to boning anything but awkward, and this is no exception, but Ronan handles it with the same easy grace he's had all evening, dropping back into character when they're both naked and the whole lube-condoms-position stuff has been sorted. At some point while they're wrangling bodies, Ronan says, "You got a safeword? In case my clumsily enthusiastic fan bit gets a little too method?"

"Hillary Clinton."

Ronan gives a slow, not unimpressed head bob. "That certainly is a safe word. Mine's cabbage, which seems tame by comparison." 

"Don't do yourself down. Cabbage has a certain quiet dignity."

And then they're all lubed and condomed up and ready to go to town

Lovett is on his hands and knees -- "It'll be easier for you," Ronan had said, in character, "if you don't do this much" -- looking back over his shoulder at Ronan with a mix of emotions on his face that he knows isn't appropriate, but that he can't seem to keep down.

"Tell me if I'm going too fast," Ronan-the-fan says, ducked head and shy smile and all. It makes it easier for Lovett to put away his own nonsense and focus on being Lovett-the-writer, who tells Ronan, "You've got this. I can tell I'm in good hands." 

Ronan puts said good hands right on Lovett's ass, pulling apart his cheeks to brush one thumb tenderly over Lovett's hole.

"Fuck, you look good," he says. "I don't know whether I want to eat you out or fuck you until you scream."

And then he, without warning, he presses his thumb into Lovett's hole, just too fast and just too hard and just perfectly, perfectly right. A clumsiness that only works because of the safety behind it, the thrill of the too much tempered by the care Ronan's taken getting them there. 

At Lovett's sharp intake of breath, Ronan lets out a tiny hum of satisfaction. "Fuck you until you scream, okay."

He pulls his thumb out and lines himself up, tip of his cock pressed against Lovett's hole.

"You really want me, huh? My favorite writer, craving my dick. I'm going to give it to you so good. Show you what your writing means to me."

He pushes in, a single fluid motion, gripping Lovett's hips to pull him back onto his dick as he pushes forwards.

"You're going to take it," Ronan says, voice soft with wonder. "Fuck. You're so gorgeous. Look at you, so hungry for my dick."

Lovett bites his lip, moans, pushes back as hard as he can, fuck, Ronan feels so good inside him, exactly what he needed. The dirty talk kind of washes over him, his whole body focused on the feel of Ronan inside him, filling him up and lighting him up from the inside.

Ronan's hands grip his hips too hard and it's perfect, it's exactly what he wanted, the eagerness and the sloppiness of being wanted, of being craved so badly that a guy this hot and this composed forgets to be gentle.

Ronan's thrusts are rough and beautiful, some of them sparking pleasure and some of them just shy of it, all of them together taking the control out of Lovett's hands, taking the thoughts out of Lovett's head, because all he can do is live through them, accepting the pleasure if it comes and letting Ronan use him, letting Ronan want him so badly, so selfishly that Lovett is getting fucked just the way he needs.

Ronan's rhythm stutters and he shoves, hard, deep into Lovett, and holds him there, coming inside him, gasping and digging his fingers into Lovett's hips.

"Can you stay in me?" Lovett manages when he feels the pulses stop, Ronan's dick still hard in his ass.

"For a minute," Ronan says. "Or my fingers--"

A minute is all Lovett needs. He fucks his fist hard, taking the roiling pleasure that had been building in him and pushing himself over the edge in a few practiced strokes, all of Ronan's hard work paying off in the ease with which Lovett can kick himself up a gear.

"That was amazing," he says afterwards, fucked out and sincere. "You were amazing." He's lying back on the bed trying to get his breath back, while Ronan disposes of the condom.

"No, you were amazing, fuck," Ronan tells him. "There was nothing about tonight I did not like."

And normally this would be where it got awkward again, both of them trying to size up whether the other was a stay-the-night kind of guy, but Ronan just says, like it's no big deal, "That was pretty intense. You mind if I stay the night? I don't like to be alone after a scene, even one as fun as that."

"Go right ahead," Lovett says, grateful relieved fond.

Ronan pulls this face, like maybe it was kind of a big deal for him to put himself out like that, like he wants to apologize but also knows he shouldn't. It's a face Lovett recognizes from the inside, even if he's never roleplayed a clumsily topping superfan himself.

Lovett doesn't want to leave Ronan exposed, but he doesn't know what he can say to match it. Instead, he just opens his arms, allowing Ronan to come in for the post-coital closeness if that's a thing he's into.

That is, it turns out, a thing he's into. Lovett doesn't hate it. 

They hold each other for a while, the silence as surprisingly not-awkward as every other part of this evening, until Ronan kisses Lovett on the side of the neck and says, "Don't line up all your Emmys so they can watch your hookups get naked, okay?"

Lovett laughs louder than is polite in a houseshare at 2am, but what the fuck ever, he has a gorgeous blond in his bed and the gorgeous blond's got jokes.

"I'll take it under advisement," he says, kissing Ronan on the ear

#

Lovett wakes up alone, which, good, fine, probably for the best. The ease of last night couldn't have survived daylight and morning breath anyway. He feels good -- fucked out in the best way, relaxed and loose, grounded. No need to ruin that with early morning reality. 

He stretches under the covers, luxuriating in the feel of being well-used in the very best way, in the memory of Ronan's kisses and Ronan's hands and Ronan's smile. It was a good night. 

Eventually, he finds a clean-enough t-shirt and a, let's be honest, not-clean-enough pair of sweats, and pads downstairs, barefoot and unwashed. The guys have seen worse from him, and he has _absolutely_ seen worse from them. 

Tommy's up, he can hear, and coffee is brewing. Whoever Tommy's talking with is too quietly for him to recognize, but from Tommy's laughter it can't be anyone too horrendous. And if it is, well, Lovett will just grab some coffee and retreat back to his bed, which is not the worst way to enjoy a Saturday. 

Sitting at the kitchen counter, deep in conversation with Tommy, is none other than Ronan. 

Lovett thinks he should maybe feel annoyed or something. He's had other one-night-stands pull this shit with him, and it's always made him itchy, irritated. He hates when someone from one box in his life deliberately moves to another without his permission. 

But the moment Lovett enters the kitchen Ronan looks up at him and smiles this huge, dorky, unfeigned sunshine smile, a smile too big for this early in the morning. Honestly, Lovett's having a hard time breathing, forget being annoyed. Without his permission, his own mouth is mirroring Ronan's, lit up from the inside by something he’s pretending not to understand. 

Tommy, that asshole, looks between them and starts grinning. 

"Hey Lovett," Tommy says in a sing-song voice that would get Lovett scowling at him if he had any interest at all in looking away from Ronan even for a second. "Have you met Farrow? From State?"

"Whatever," Lovett says, eyes locked with Ronan's. Then, to Ronan: "Uh. Hi."

Ronan beams. "Hi."

"Hi!" Tommy adds. 

"This asshole offer you anything to eat?" Lovett asks Ronan.

Ronan raises the Yes We Can mug filled with thick black coffee. "I'm good."

"Me too," Tommy says cheerfully, because he is literally the worst person in the world and Lovett isn't going to miss him even a little when he's out in LA writing brilliant TV and trying to convince himself he doesn't need to "get over" a one-night-stand with some handsome weirdo from State. 

"Well, good," Lovett says eventually, after he and Ronan have smiled at each other for an unnaturally long period of time and Tommy has just sat there radiating asshole so hard Lovett wants to give him a wedgie. "You, uh, you sleep okay?"

"Really well," Ronan says. "So well."

"Good."

"Good."

"Good," Tommy adds. "I'm just going to leave you guys to it, I guess?" He makes a dorky thumbs up gesture at them both. 

"Fuck off, Tommy," Lovett says with no heat behind it, his cheeks aching with his smile

"Thanks for the coffee," Ronan says. "But fuck off, Tommy."

"Fucking off," Tommy says cheerfully., already halfway out the door. His phone is out. He is, Lovett is willing to bet, texting Favreau right now.

Tommy Vietor: LOVETT BROUGHT HOME FARROW FROM STATE  
Jon Favreau: ?  
Jon Favreau: !   
Tommy Vietor: They had really loud sex last night  
Tommy Vietor: Afterwards Lovett laughed  
Jon Favreau: good laugh?  
Tommy Vietor: Like you laugh at Em's jokes  
Tommy Vietor: But surprised  
Tommy Vietor: Delighted  
Tommy Vietor: GOOD laugh  
Jon Favreau: em says did rf stay the night?  
Tommy Vietor: YES  
Tommy Vietor: They're having coffee in the kitchen now  
Tommy Vietor: Staring at each other like they can't believe their luck  
Jon Favreau: This is Emily. Did L have love bites?  
Tommy Vietor: Not that I saw  
Jon Favreau: GO BACK IN AND CHECK  
Jon Favreau: this is jon. dont go ba  
Jon Favreau: IGNORE JON  
Jon Favreau: please excuse us a minute 

With Tommy gone, Lovett decides fuck it, if he guesses wrong Ronan will probably just laugh it off. He moves so he can stand with his hip to Ronan's shoulder, putting his hand lightly between Ronan's shoulder blades, undeniably intimate.

Instead of laughing, or moving away, or getting up and storming out the house never to return, Ronan tilts to nudge the side of his head, cat-like, against Lovett's side.

"I'm leaving town soon," Lovett makes himself say. "For LA."

"1600 Penn," Ronan says. "You'll be amazing out there."

Lovett doesn't know what to do with the feeling in his chest, so he just makes a vague kind of mmm noise. "Uh. I haven't told anyone else here that?"

One side of Ronan's mouth rises up in tiny, private smugness that he visibly takes a moment to get under control. Lovett, god help him, is charmed.

"Understood," Ronan says. "You'll still be amazing out there. I'm leaving soon too. For England."

Of course he is. Where he's going to meet some duke or something who's just as funny as Lovett and way hotter, and who doesn't proposition handsome men into weird narcissistic roleplay just because he's having a bad day. 

Ronan swigs his coffee and puts the mug on the counter. He takes Lovett's free hand, tangling their fingers together.

"We could--" Lovett starts at the same time that Ronan says, "Do you--"

They both laugh. Ronan brings their linked hands up to kiss the back of Lovett's.

"I would like to see you again," he says, the same way he said last night that he wanted to stay the night. Straightforward, but not without risk.

"I'd like that too." Lovett is seized once again with the urge to repay this openness, not to leave Ronan exposed. This time he manages to say, "So much. I'd like that so much."

And they're kissing, coffee breath to coffee breath, all the hope in Lovett's heart pressing at the walls of his chest.

Tommy comes back in sometime later, making -- bless him and the good people who raised him -- _a lot_ of noise. 

By then, Lovett and Ronan have stopped making out, and are just standing side by side, exchanging occasional soft kisses, while Lovett makes pancakes from a very old box of mix that just requires water and oil.

Tommy Vietor: PANCAKES!  
Jon Favreau: !!!  


Pancakes is Lovett's boyfriend move. It's his "Please leave a toothbrush in my bathroom but don't make me ask" move. It's his "I'll listen to your bad opinions and still want to have sex with you" move. And it is, he's finding out this morning, his Ronan move.

"Pancakes?" Tommy asks. He's been subjected to more than one drunken soliloquy from Lovett about the gay kryptonite that is a hot guy making pancakes for you. 

Lovett smiles. Meets Tommy's eye. "Yep." He pops the p smugly. 

"I don't know what pancakes is code for," Ronan says, "but I'm into it."

"Trust me," Lovett says, ignoring the way Tommy is not-very-subtly looking at his neck. "You're into it." Then, to Tommy: "What the fuck, Vietor?"

"Emily wants to know if you have hickeys."

Ronan laughs. Lovett scowls. Tommy blushes. And the pancakes continue to cook. 

"Not yet," Ronan says. 

Lovett tries not to find it utterly endearing. He fails, and can't keep the smile out of his voice when he says, "Tell Favreau to tell his child bride not all of us are horny college students who can't control themselves."

"I will _not_ be telling him that."

"But you will be telling him about the pancakes," Lovett says. Pauses. "Oh my god, you've already told him, haven't you?"

Tommy blushes but doesn't apologize.

"Welcome to my life," Lovett says to Ronan, only very slightly a question. "Gossipy Obama bros, bad coffee, and occasional pancakes."

Ronan pulls Lovett forward by the hip to kiss him. Then, to Tommy: "Tell Jon Favreau and his girlfriend I'm into it. The whole package."

Lovett hides his face in Ronan's shoulder. "Fuck off, Tommy."

"I'll save you a pancake," Ronan says, and Tommy fucks off, grinning.

The pancakes are grainy, a bit weird tasting, and both burned and undercooked. They are delicious.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Kudos, comments, carrier pigeons all much appreciated. 
> 
> Title from La Vie Boheme, Rent.   
Thanks to @flooey for pointing out that cetacean rhymes with space station. 
> 
> If you like, you're very welcome to come say hi on twitter - I'm [@krfabian](https://twitter.com/krfabian/), where I tweet about all manner of nerd stuff (and my original fiction). Tho it is an unlocked twitter, so I don't tend to talk about this fandom on there in anything but the vaguest terms.


End file.
